


Discretion

by smallvictories



Series: Something unexpected [1]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, NSFW Art, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Semi-public masturbation, Shame, takes place during bcs s02e07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallvictories/pseuds/smallvictories
Summary: Jimmy and Mike reluctantly discover they may have compatible personalities. Filthiness ensues.
Relationships: Mike Ehrmantraut/Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman
Series: Something unexpected [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817191
Comments: 47
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [bagman sleazy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569696) by [drphil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drphil/pseuds/drphil). 



Jimmy and Mike wait for the elevator after leaving Suzanne's office. Mike made the right choice, Jimmy thinks. Salamanacas are always bad news.

"Don't be too tough on yourself," Jimmy says to Mike consolingly, "Like they say, discretion is the better part of valor. I would've done the same thing."

Jimmy pauses when he hears the elevator chime.

"Hey, today, it's on me. No charge." Jimmy says with a bright smile. 

The doors slide open and Mike starts to walk inside, Jimmy following close behind. Mike turns suddenly and pushes him away with a firm hand to the chest.

"You take the next one" he says in his usual gruff monotone as he reaches out and presses the button for the lobby, "and bill me."

Jimmy leaps forward and slips in just before the elevator doors close, tripping the sensor and causing them to open again. Mike looks furious, but doesn’t make a scene, noticing the people gathering in the hall outside.

Jimmy presses the close button and moves to stand opposite from Mike, leaning against the wall and wearing a smug grin. The doors finally shut and muffle the sound of voices in the corridor as the elevator whirs to life.

Before Jimmy can register what is happening, Mike closes the short distance between them and grabs Jimmy by the throat, knocking the back of his head hard against the wall. Jimmy drops his briefcase in surprise, and it hits the floor with a muted thump.

Mike narrows his eyes, his upper lip twitching slightly as he stares Jimmy down. Jimmy gasps and sputters, eyes wide with shock as redness blooms across his face, his fingers clawing uselessly at Mike's iron grip.

"You and me, we're not friends. You don't talk to me about the Salamancas, understand?"

Jimmy is caught off guard by Mike’s strength. He has a few inches of height on Mike, but obviously this doesn’t count for much.

"Okay! I- I won't mention them ag- again" Jimmy chokes out.

Mike presses harder on Jimmy's throat, leaning his body forward and placing one of his knees against the wall between Jimmy's thighs.

"Are you sorry?" Mike questions softly.

Jimmy desperately gasps for air and silently mouths a yes, nodding his head slightly. He squeezes his eyes shut when his blood starts rushing south, his face becoming impossibly redder

Jimmy breaks out in a sweat and chews his lip, trying to compose himself. God, he wishes he hadn't dropped his briefcase. He would give anything to have a barrier between himself and Mike right now. He opens his eyes to look at the readout above the doorway and feels relief when he sees they will reach the ground floor soon.

He enjoys the opportunities for haggling these ancient courthouse elevators afford him, but now their sluggish pace feels like a betrayal.

Mike raises an eyebrow, showing the smallest hint of amusement. He releases his grip on Jimmy's throat but rests his hand there a moment, feeling Jimmy's pulse thrumming against his palm. Jimmy licks his lips and boldly makes eye contact, feeling encouraged by Mike's almost gentle touch. Maybe he isn't the only one enjoying this?

Mike takes a half step back and glances down to confirm what he already knows, seeing the outline of Jimmy bulging against the confines of his pants.

Mike moves forward until his chest is against Jimmy's and growls, "You like this, you sick fuck?"

He reaches around the back of Jimmy's neck and grabs a handful of hair, yanking his head back. Jimmy feels himself throb as pain sears his scalp.

"Yeah" he rasps weakly, his face hot with shame.

Jimmy is panting hard now, forced to stare up at the ceiling with his neck exposed as Mike continues to tug his hair back. He lets his arms hang loosely at his sides, presenting no resistance.

"You're disgusting, you know that?"

Mike releases Jimmy's hair and presses his forearm to Jimmy's throat. The corner of Mike's mouth quirks slightly upward as he watches Jimmy struggle, before he swivels his hip and digs it into Jimmy's groin.

Jimmy reacts automatically and ruts up against the side of Mike's leg, his eyelids fluttering shut as he chokes out a low moan. Mike increases the pressure and Jimmy can see dark spots starting to gather on the edges of his vision.

He frantically grinds himself against Mike, making strangled grunts with each pump of his hips. He hangs by a thread from the precipice of orgasm and is about to lose his grip when the elevator chimes.

Mike backs away and turns toward the doors while Jimmy takes a huge gulp of air and exhales it with a groan of loss.

"Parking lot. 2:00 am. Be there." Mike mutters, not taking his eyes off the doors.

He smooths out the front of his shirt just as the doors open and briskly makes his way to the main doors.

A couple people are waiting to enter the elevator and look at Jimmy with concern while he hastily scoops up his briefcase from the floor and holds it against his abdomen with both hands, still panting and his face beet-red.

Jimmy awkwardly shuffles out of the elevator and rushes down the hall to the men’s room, cursing under his breath the whole way.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy slams open the door of the men’s room and almost runs headfirst into Bill Oakley.

“H-hey! How you doing Bill?” Jimmy asks, speaking just a bit too loudly and white-knuckling the handle of his briefcase.

Bill backs up a step, “Hey Mr. Big Time! Davis and Main still treating you well? Still enjoying your sweet digs and your fancy German car?”

Bill pauses and furrows his brow as he takes in Jimmy’s blotchy face and sweat-beaded forehead, “Doin' okay there buddy? Did you get the chili for lunch? Rookie mistake!” Bill mocks him, probably remembering all the times Jimmy interrupted him during what could have otherwise been a relaxing shit.

Jimmy glares in response and silently wills him to get the fuck out.

“Alright, I’ve got a hearing in five minutes, but we’ll catch up later. Don’t pull an Elvis!” Bill claps him on the back just a bit harder than necessary and strolls past him out the door.

“Thanks for your concern!” Jimmy shouts after him, “ _asshole_.” he adds under his breath.

Jimmy rocks back on his heels and glances around the room. He walks casually along the line of stalls, bending slightly at the waist to check under the doors for feet. Thank god, there’s no one here.

He goes to the last stall in the row, pushing it open with a loud creak and locking it behind him. He disposes of his briefcase on top of the toilet tank and leans back against the cold tile wall, flicking his eyes up to the ceiling and exhaling shakily.

Jimmy normally prides himself on his staying power, but right now he just wants this to be gone and forget he was ever on that elevator. He tries to think of something else. _Anything_ else.

He certainly doesn’t want to think about his hot blood rushing in his ears like whitewater, or the memory of hard, warm hands encircling his neck.

Jimmy closes his eyes and massages his forehead, before sliding his hands down to his throat. He circles his thumb lightly around his Adam’s apple and winces when it stings, his cock bobbing up inside his pants.

Jimmy loosens and removes his tie before he unbuttons the top of his collar. He takes a deep breath and shrugs his suit jacket off his shoulders, laying it carefully over the top of the stall door along with his tie.

Obviously, his dick is winning this round, so he may as well get on with it so he can make it home without driving off the road.

Jimmy untucks his dress shirt with a quick upward yank before unbuckling his belt and zipping his fly open. He pushes down his boxer shorts and pants in one motion, letting them pool around his ankles. He kicks them off clumsily, shaking his legs awkwardly to unhook the fabric from the tips of his shoes, before haphazardly piling the clothing on top of his briefcase.

His cock parts the bottom of his dress shirt and strains up toward his belly button, swollen and sporting an angry shade of red, a small pearl of precum glistening in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

If only Mike could see him now, naked below the waist except for his too-expensive shoes and garishly colorful socks held up by old-fashioned garters, he might actually hear Mike laugh for the first time.

Well, wasn’t that was a fucking thought. Would Mike want to watch him like this? Jimmy lets out a small sigh and uses both hands to slick his damp hair back out of his face. Jimmy closes his eyes and spreads his legs, bracing his back against the wall. He reaches down and runs the pad of his thumb along the top of his penis from root to tip, pressing the head down slightly before letting it spring back up.

The moment Jimmy stops resisting, Mike quietly strolls into his mind’s eye, fully-formed as though he’s always been there. Mike looks down at Jimmy's cock appraisingly and lets out a short huff of laughter, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Jimmy expects this. He’s never been much to look at. Mike’s momentary amusement fades and he stares coldly at Jimmy.

Jimmy begins pumping his cock and lets out a soft, low moan from deep in his chest that echoes against the hard surfaces of the washroom.

He hears Mike’s voice issue a command, and Jimmy can hear the boredom in his tone, like this is routine for him, “Turn around and stay quiet. This will be over soon.”

Jimmy waits for a beat, holding his dick in both hands, his eyes pinched shut and his lips twisted into a grimace. He imagines that Mike grows weary of waiting. Jimmy fists his shirt up in both hands, pulling it up to his nipples and in that moment, for Jimmy, it’s Mike’s fists tangled in his shirt and Mike’s solid hands that flip him around so that his chest is against the wall, his aching cock pinned between his hipbone and the unyielding tile.

Jimmy huffs at the sensation and begins to move his hips slowly, bracing his forearms against the wall just above the top of his head. He looks down to see more precum leaking from the tip of his penis, smearing all over the wall as he slides himself across the tiles.

As he continues to grind against the wall, grunting quietly, he clumsily unbuttons his dress shirt and awkwardly reaches back to pull it down and off his arms, hanging it from the hook on the stall door.

Jimmy rolls his undershirt up over his belly and chest, securing it under his arms. He wads up the front of the shirt and tucks the bundle between his teeth, biting down on the soft cotton and humming blissfully.

He shivers, imagining a gentle touch at the nape of his neck that trails down the crease of his back, stopping just short of the curve of his ass before an unforgiving elbow jams in between his shoulder blades.

Jimmy lets out a muffled cry and clamps his teeth down on his improvised gag. He presses his naked chest forcefully against the wall and pretends Mike's elbow is bearing down on him so hard that his lungs can hardly inflate.

Somewhere in his haze of pleasure, he hears Mike give him another order, “Spread it.”

Jimmy hastily spreads his legs just a little further and leans forward, jutting his ass out and bending his knees slightly for stability. He anchors himself with the side of his face against the wall and reaches back to cup his ass cheeks with trembling hands. He spreads himself open and lets out an embarrassing whine when the cool air hits him.

Jimmy imagines the clink of a belt buckle and the quiet rasp of a zipper, followed by Mike’s insistent cock pushing up against his stretched open hole.

Jimmy spits the bundled shirt from his lips and replaces it with his own fingers, sucking and licking to wet them thoroughly. He bunches his shirt up into his mouth again, reaches back and firmly pushes three fingers past his entrance.

Jimmy's breath hitches and he almost chokes, before he settles into rapid, rhythmic puffs through his nose, like steam pushing pistons in an engine.

Jimmy begins to pump his fingers in a steady, firm rhythm, grinding the cotton of his undershirt between his teeth, trying to detach from the sensation in his fingers and pretend it's Mike's cock instead. He lets himself believe he hears a small grunt of pleasure from Mike with each push of his fingers.

When Jimmy adds another finger and hits the spot he was searching for, the sensation is so heady that he leans forward and closes his eyes to keep the room from spinning. He tags it several more times, and his muffled moans fill the room, echoing back in his ears.

Jimmy tilts his head back and his makeshift gag slips from his mouth. He draws in a deep trembling breath, his jaw slack with pleasure. A small trickle of saliva runs from the corner of his mouth and drips down onto his collarbone.

Mike’s voice suddenly cuts through, gentler this time, “That’s good, Jimmy. Let it go now.”

Instantly, Jimmy’s cock jerks up and pulses. He cries out, the first two shots hitting him hard beneath the chin, the aftershocks coating his chest and belly.

He turns around and leans his back heavily against the wall, sliding down until he reaches the floor, unable to stand any longer. Jimmy's chest heaves as he sits there, his arms dead weight against his sides and his hands resting palms up on the floor. He groans with relief when his dick mercifully starts to wilt.

Jimmy envisions Mike towering over him, looking unrumpled despite having just fucked the life out of him. Mike looks down his nose at the scene below, scrutinizing the disgusting mess Jimmy made all over the wall, floor, and himself.

Mike locks eyes on a long drip of semen hanging precariously from Jimmy's chin and chuckles softly under his breath, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"What a fucking mess you are." Mike sighs, shaking his head disapprovingly and clicking his tongue. _Tsk tsk_.

Jimmy wants so badly to claw Mike's fly back open and redeem himself, but Mike turns and walks away, leaving Jimmy's daydream as quickly and effortlessly as he entered it.

The fantasy fades.

Jimmy opens his eyes and wraps his arms comfortingly around his torso. He's alone again, but then of course, he always was.

Jimmy hugs himself tighter and feels bereft in spite of himself. He tries to catch his breath, while his ruined undershirt catches the slow drip of semen off his chin. All he has now are his gasping breaths and the hum of the fluorescent lights.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy tosses and turns, twisted in his bedsheets and sweating despite the cool temperature in his soulless corporate apartment. 

He sighs and looks over at the clock radio on his nightstand. 1:39 am.

He sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed, stretching his back with a groan. If he's really going to do this, it's time to get dressed.

Jimmy flicks on his bedside lamp, hops up and walks over to his closet to browse his vast wardrobe. He debates for a moment before settling on a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweater, and heads to the bathroom.

After brushing his teeth, Jimmy runs a comb through his hair and then carefully rakes it into place with his fingers.

Jimmy steps back to study himself in the mirror. He looks like a dad ready to take his kids for ice cream. Fucking great.

Why should he care what he looks like?

He glances down at his watch and tries not to think about it.

Jimmy grabs his keys and heads out the door.

Jimmy turns into the courthouse parking lot and sees Mike sitting in the booth, the top of his head bathed in fluorescent light. He holds a folded newspaper and marks something down on it with his pen. A crossword puzzle, Jimmy supposes.

Jimmy pulls his company-issued Mercedes smoothly up to the booth and slows to a stop, lowering the window and clearing his throat.

“Hey Mike!” He says in his usual jovial manner, working hard to keep his voice even.

Mike puts his pen between his teeth but doesn’t look up from his newspaper. He motions to the opposite side of the booth with a jab of his thumb.

Jimmy hits the gas and continues past the booth, turning left and parking in front of the fence along the edge of the lot.

Jimmy looks in his rearview mirror and watches as Mike sets down his newspaper beside the cash register and slides open the door of the booth, flicking the light off and locking the door behind him.

When Mike begins walking toward him, Jimmy brushes his hair off his forehead and steps out of the car, the slam of the door sounding through the darkened lot.

Mike stops about two feet away. There’s enough light coming from the streetlamps beside the lot that Jimmy can see his trademark unimpressed expression.

Jimmy decides to treat this like any other client meeting. A perfectly normal client meeting at two in the morning. 

“Well, Mike, here I am.” Jimmy says matter-of-factly, leaning back against the car. “What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until business hours?”

Mike rests his hands on his hips and looks unconvinced by Jimmy's act, “Tell me what you want, Jimmy.”

Jimmy clears his throat in discomfort. It feels strangely intimate when Mike uses his name. He’s used to “McGill”, “the lawyer”, or even “Hey, you!”, but definitely not Jimmy.

Jimmy rubs his sore neck and blushes when he remembers Mike's hands gripping him there only a few hours before. He drops his hand and clears his throat again, then stands up straight and squares his shoulders.

_“You’re_ the one who asked _me_ to meet _you,_ _remember?”_ Jimmy points accusingly at Mike and sneers, anger stirring deep in his chest, his face heating from the sudden shot of adrenalin. 

“You know, if you’re ready for the home, I know a great place!” Jimmy continues, his face getting redder, “All the jello and bingo a man could ever want, and they’ll only defraud you a _teeny tiny bit!"_ Jimmy gestures with his index finger pressed to his thumb.

Mike rolls his eyes and scowls at Jimmy’s blustering. 

“Don’t fuck around,” he says just loudly enough for Jimmy to hear, “You know what I’m asking.”

Jimmy leans back against the car and swallows hard, looking down at the asphalt while he scuffs his sneaker along some loose gravel.

“Well, okay _Mike._ Wanna know what I want?” Jimmy hisses, not looking up from the gravel, “I wanna be asleep at home because it’s _two in the fucking morning.”_

Mike folds his arms and narrows his eyes, “You know,” Mike says with a sigh, “I’m getting sick of your attitude.”

Jimmy scoffs and kicks at the gravel, scattering it over Mike's shoes.

_“I’m_ getting sick of waiting for you to admit that you had a senior moment and can’t remember why you needed to meet with me!” Jimmy retorts, glaring up at Mike.

“Have it your way then.” Mike says calmly and takes a step forward.

Jimmy tries to back away and bumps clumsily into the Mercedes, tripping and sprawling backward across the hood. 

He worries fleetingly about paint damage, before remembering that he _hates_ this car, with its too-small cup holder. It's not quite right for him, just like everything else in his life.

“I’m sure there’s a way we can work this out that satisfies both parties!” Jimmy raises up his hands defensively and gives Mike a placating smile as he draws nearer.

Mike takes another step forward to stand beside the car, right between Jimmy’s knees. Jimmy’s chest rises and falls rapidly while his eyes dart around, searching for an escape.

He tries to scramble over to the opposite side of the hood, but Mike grabs him by the ankles.

“Oh c’mon, Mike!" Jimmy pleads, his voice pitching higher and cracking, "You don’t have to do this.” 

“I tried to work it out,” Mike says condescendingly, as though he's speaking to an especially bothersome child, “but you’re not cooperating.”

Jimmy kicks out at Mike to free himself, but Mike steps back from the kick and then grabs his ankles again, dragging him forward. 

Mike releases Jimmy’s ankles and presses down on both his knees, flattening Jimmy’s legs against the hood.

“Bad knees, bad knees!” Jimmy cries out painfully and goes still, raising his hands in surrender.

Mike sighs, “I guess we’ll do this the hard way.”

“What’s the har–”

Jimmy’s question is cut off by his own yelp of surprise when Mike grabs him by the front of his sweater and hauls him up from the hood with surprising ease, bringing them face to face.

Jimmy pinches his eyes shut to avoid Mike's stare and groans under his breath with frustration at his cock stiffening in his jeans.

Jesus Christ, will he ever catch a break?

Mike swings Jimmy around and pins his wrists behind his back, reminding Jimmy uncomfortably of the last time he got arrested in Cicero.

He pushes Jimmy roughly toward the nearest of the large concrete columns supporting the roadway above them.

It's even darker back here, and Jimmy shivers with anticipation in the cool night air.

Mike pauses a moment and listens to Jimmy panting.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Mike reassures him, "I just wanna talk." 

“H-how do you know I'm not hurt already?” Jimmy stutters nervously. He turns his head and tries to look back at Mike but can barely make him out in his peripheral. 

“You seem fine,” Mike deadpans, “doesn’t take a detective to notice the big top you’re pitching.”

Jimmy hangs his head resignedly and prays for the earth to split open and swallow him up.

“Are you ready to talk about the elevator?” Mike asks, his voice dropping deeper.

“I- I don’t… uhh…” Jimmy struggles to find his words. He takes a slow, shaky breath and exhales it, falling silent.

"You never shut up, but now you got nothing to say?” Mike squeezes Jimmy’s wrists tighter and pulls him back a step until Jimmy’s heels bump into his toes.

Jimmy’s cock throbs almost painfully when he feels Mike pressing against him from behind, and he betrays his excitement with a desperate whine.

Mike wraps one arm around Jimmy’s chest from behind, continuing to pin Jimmy’s wrists back with his other hand. 

Jimmy doesn't want to need this, but he can't help himself. He relaxes into the embrace and sighs.

Jimmy is immediately startled from his reverie by Mike kicking at the insides of his feet, forcing him to widen his stance.

Mike unwinds his arm from around Jimmy's chest and reaches up to grab a fistful of hair, yanking Jimmy's head back.

Jimmy manages to swallow the moan threatening to escape him.

"Why did you hump my leg like a dog in that elevator?" Mike growls in his ear, shoving Jimmy's head forward before releasing his hold.

"Mike, can we just forget about this please," Jimmy begs, looking down into the darkness. "Just let me go, it’ll never happen again."

"No, I don’t think so." Mike grunts.

Mike decides to test a theory, "I'm gonna let go of you, and you're gonna open your fly."

"Wh-what?" Jimmy squeaks, "Why would I-"

"Shut up," Mike cuts Jimmy off, letting go of his wrists, "and do it."

Jimmy's jaw drops and he seriously considers the possibility that this is a wet dream, and he's still asleep in bed.

He's embarrassingly aroused now and can feel a large wet spot forming where the head of his cock presses against his thigh.

There's a small part of Jimmy that wants to refuse and kick up a fuss, just to see what Mike does, but what he wants most is to please him.

He reaches down and opens the clasp of his belt, popping open the button of his jeans and pulling his zipper down.

"You like getting ordered around, huh?" Mike asks thickly, moving his arm back up around Jimmy’s chest.

"Yeah, I do." Jimmy whispers, and notices how Mike's breath plays a quick staccato on the back of his neck.

At this confession, Mike grunts and thrusts up against Jimmy's ass.

Jimmy gasps and whimpers, pressing his ass back against Mike's groin.

Mike's arm drops and he trails his hand down over Jimmy's chest and stomach, before feeding his dick out through the opening of his boxer shorts.

The moment Mike’s hand closes around him, Jimmy rolls his hips.

"Oh, god!" Jimmy cries out, his voice echoing off the concrete.

"Shut up." Mike scolds. He reaches up and covers Jimmy’s mouth with his hand.

Without warning, the hand wrapped around Jimmy's cock starts jerking him roughly at a frantic pace.

Jimmy shouts with surprise against Mike’s palm, his hips juddering. He reaches up and grips Mike’s wrist with both hands to keep from falling. 

Mike slows the pace of his fist and continues to thrust against Jimmy's ass, and Jimmy loosens his hips and moulds his body against Mike.

Each thrust from Mike propels Jimmy's hips forward and forces his cock through the tight ring of Mike’s fist. 

Jimmy is falling apart beneath Mike's hand, rambling muffled and incoherent. His entire body trembles and he scrapes his nails down Mike's arm. 

Mike suddenly stops thrusting and his hand falls from Jimmy's dick. 

Jimmy grunts and furrows his brow in confusion as Mike removes his hand from his mouth and wipes it on Jimmy's sweater.

"You seem chatty," Mike says evenly, "Are ready to tell me what you want?"

Jimmy wheezes and summons just enough air to speak, "I want you _to fuck me."_ He quietly rushes through the second half of his request.

"My hearing's not what it used to be," Mike says blankly.

Mike spins Jimmy around by his hips to face him, and Jimmy's cock, veined and dark red, just barely presses into Mike's lower stomach

Jimmy turns his gaze upward and bids a silent farewell to his last scrap of dignity. 

"I want you to fuck me." Jimmy sighs in defeat and darts his eyes to the side, refusing to look at Mike and trying to ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Even in the dim light, Mike can see how flushed Jimmy's face is.

"Now, doesn't it feel good to get it off your chest?" Mike asks patronizingly.

Jimmy locks eyes with Mike, and for one humiliating moment, wonders if he's just been played.

However, a second later, Mike reaches out and grabs Jimmy's dick like a lead on a horse, pulling him toward the column. 

A smile flits across Mike's face when he feels Jimmy throb in his hand. He steps back behind Jimmy and shoves him forward against the concrete column.

Jimmy winces as his face scrapes along the rough surface and a second later, Mike is tugging off his boxer shorts and jeans.

Jimmy crosses his arms awkwardly, feeling extremely vulnerable, naked from the waist down other than his socks and sneakers. He stares into blackness and waits nervously for Mike to do something, but he doesn't hear any movement from behind him.

He braces his hands against the column and looks back over his shoulder. He sees Mike palming his dick through his cargo pants, looking him up and down.

Jimmy watches him wide-eyed, and he exhales hard through his nose when Mike finally unzips and pulls out his cock. 

Jimmy faces back to the column and reaches down for his own dick, but no sooner does he wrap his hand around it, Mike speaks up from behind him.

"I didn't say you could touch yourself." He grabs Jimmy's hand and forces it back up against the column.

_"Fuuuuck,"_ Jimmy moans under his breath. If Mike doesn't hurry up, the next gentle breeze is going to send him off.

Jimmy leans forward against the column, bracing with his forearms, and clasps his hands above his head. He spreads his legs, curving his lower spine inward to present his ass to Mike.

Mike hums appreciatively and removes his windbreaker, folding it carefully and placing it on the asphalt a few inches behind Jimmy. 

Jimmy listens to the crinkling of the windbreaker and the scuffing of Mike's shoes. He waits, his chest getting tight with anticipation and his breaths quick and shallow.

Hands grasp his ass and part him, catching him by surprise. "Ahh _ffffuuuck,"_ Jimmy cries out, and he feels the knot in his stomach fraying, threatening to tear him apart.

"Jimmy, you're doing good," Mike murmurs reassuringly, "take deep breaths." 

It takes every ounce of Jimmy's effort not to pop like a cork. He whimpers after each of his gasps, because _fucking Christ,_ when Mike speaks, he can feel hot breaths against his stretched hole.

Mike has his mouth back there? The very idea is making his brain short-circuit.

Mike is down on one knee behind Jimmy, patiently waiting for him to compose himself enough to continue.

"Are you ready?" Mike asks softly once he hears Jimmy's breathing start to even out.

"Y-yeah" Jimmy whispers, his Adam's apple bobbing as he balls his hands into fists above his head.

When Mike's tongue slides across his hole, Jimmy loses himself, his hips jerking of their own accord and painfully scraping his penis against the column. He gasps and curses.

"You're okay Jimmy, relax." Mike comforts, "Give me your hands."

Jimmy obeys without a thought, dropping his hands down at his sides. He leans forward and presses his face and chest against the column to anchor himself.

Mike grasps the offered hands, pulls them back and places them palms down on Jimmy's buttocks.

"Keep yourself open for me." Mike's voice rumbles softly.

Jimmy obediently stretches himself open and waits.

Mike reaches up to grasp Jimmy's hips firmly and begins swirling his tongue around the pinkened edge of Jimmy's asshole.

Jimmy chokes on his breath and tries to buck back into Mike's tongue, but Mike's fingers jab painfully into his hip bones and stop his movement.

Jimmy is quickly losing touch with reality, pleading and cursing, trying desperately to hold on just a little longer.

_"Please, please,"_ Jimmy begs, he doesn't even know what for anymore.

Mike licks all the way up to the dimple just above the cleft of Jimmy's ass, then slides his tongue back down and plunges it through his entrance.

Jimmy's shout reverberates through the empty lot and Mike settles into a steady rhythm, fucking his tongue into Jimmy's asshole, his fingers digging into the younger man's hips and steadying him through his trembling sobs of pleasure.

Mike leans back and admires his work, Jimmy's hole red, wet and relaxed. 

"Alright Jimmy, I'm gonna fuck you now."

Jimmy mewls, his lungs burning like he's sprinted a marathon. He leans his head down and tries to catch his breath, noticing that his cock is twitching slightly in time with his heartbeat.

Mike spits in his hand and slicks up his penis, before carefully lining it up against Jimmy.

He grabs Jimmy's hips, pulling himself forward and sliding through the tight ring of muscle, drawing a choked gasp from Jimmy.

Jimmy is struggling. Mike is thicker than he would've guessed, and he feels almost unbearably stretched. The painful burn is only making it harder to hold on.

Mike slams into him up to the hilt without warning and Jimmy sobs in pain and delight. He can hear Mike unravelling behind him, grunting harder with every thrust.

Mike slips his hands under Jimmy's sweater and runs them over the curve of his belly and up to his chest. He finds Jimmy's nipples, already erect from a combination of arousal and the nighttime chill, and pinches and rolls them between his index fingers and thumbs.

This is it for Jimmy, he feels the knot in his stomach pull impossibly tight and then snap. He cries out, his cum shooting up inside his sweater, coating his belly and Mike's forearms. He tips forward against the concrete column to keep from falling.

This puts Mike over the edge, and he lets out a broken moan of relief, ramming up into Jimmy and releasing himself deep inside.

Jimmy feels Mike pulse several times before he finally stills. His heart flutters when Mike rests his forehead between his shoulder blades, his palms still laid against the skin of Jimmy's chest.

Jimmy isn't sure how long he stands there on trembling legs, relishing the feeling of Mike leaning into him, his cock still inside him and softening. 

He tries to keep still, not wanting to draw Mike's attention and bring whatever this is to an end.

He is startled when Mike's hands quickly slide out from under his sweater and he backs away.

Jimmy grunts softly as Mike slides out of him, feeling strangely empty in the center of his chest. He turns around to face Mike and reaches out tentatively, laying the palm of his hand on Mike's bicep.

Mike doesn't react to Jimmy's touch or acknowledge him whatsoever.

Mike produces a handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes the fluids from his forearms and groin. He tucks the cloth back into his pocket and neatly zips himself up.

He looks over at Jimmy's hand on his arm and then up at the pleading eyes watching him.

"What is it?" Mike asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.

"I just…" Jimmy trails off. 

He wants to be held just a little while longer, but he doesn't know how to articulate it.

When he looks at Mike now, there's nothing left of the person who comforted him while he shook and moaned just minutes ago.

"You wanted me to fuck you," Mike says dully, "and I did."

Jimmy drops his hand from Mike's arm and shivers, no longer having his arousal to keep him warm. "But, I- I thought-"

"Don't ask for more than you deserve, Jimmy." Mike says sternly. He strolls past Jimmy without a backward glance, heading over to his old Chrysler parked a few spots over.

Jimmy stands there numbly, and watches Mike get in his car, slamming the door behind him. The engine turns over and the car backs out.

Jimmy shields his eyes as the headlights turn onto his face. He listens to the rumble of the car's engine as it grows and then fades with distance.

Mike is gone and the lot is empty and dim once again.

He looks around in the dark and finds his pants and boxer shorts piled on the ground near the column. He also finds Mike's windbreaker, wadded up and forgotten. He gets dressed and picks up the windbreaker before walking the few steps back to the Mercedes.

Jimmy whips open the door and flings the windbreaker on the passenger seat. He sits down and angrily wrenches the door shut.

He rests his hands on the top of the steering wheel and spins his ring around his pinky finger.

He shifts uncomfortably, feeling Mike's semen leaking slowly from him, and the tackiness of his sweater, now glued to his front by his own fluids.

Jimmy looks up at his reflection in the rearview mirror, his eyes brimmed red with exhaustion, and tries not to cry.

_Don't ask for more than you deserve, Jimmy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading 🥰 Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> **Warning: the next chapter is nsfw art.**
> 
> Continue reading: [go to part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095745)
> 
> Check out [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallVictories/profile).


	4. NSFW Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion art for chapters 1 and 2 by [lazylee](https://lazylee.tumblr.com/)


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